


All the Perfumes of Arabia Will Not Sweeten These Hands

by apathetiic



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Middle Ages, Dark!Bruce, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathetiic/pseuds/apathetiic
Summary: In which Bruce Wayne is the Bat King, and Joker is his loyal Jester.orBruce has a mental breakdown medieval editionedited feb 14th





	All the Perfumes of Arabia Will Not Sweeten These Hands

It was far past midnight when the Bat King came to kneel before the eyes of God. 

He stood outside of the clandestine basilica, ornamented in his cruel armor, his onyx encrusted blade at his side, his crown on his head, his veil covering his face. Sharp lines of moonlight shone from the windows, illuminating the pathway to the church. He was completely alone. The palace was silent in this wing. No sounds of nobles and their clashing swords, impassioned moans of the courtesans, not even wicked laughter punctured the silence. It mocked him.

The doors to the church were emblazoned with scripture and wood carvings that the King had never bothered to notice before. He could see the illuminated profiles of sinners crying out in agony, their warped wooden faces stared at him as he pulled the doors to the church open with one swift tug.

He could only hear his breath, labored, as he entered the antechamber of the chapel. Only candles lit the space, the stained glass windows offered no illumination. The bishop had long retired to his own quarters. No doubt with feminine company.

He felt his breath slow, his frenzied journey to the chapel was complete.  

The church, or cathedral, rather, was fit for royalty. As it was meant to be. Ceilings stretched high to the heavens, paintings decorated the ceilings, portraying Christ in heaven, the downy feathers of angel's wings, the bright pearly gates of God's Kingdom, as well as violent, bloody scenes of conquest and war, torn apart bodies, weeping faces, agony painted onto sinner's faces with sharp, quick brush strokes. Jagged stained glass portraits of the cardinal sins watched as he walked through the rows of empty pews to the great stone altar, which was bare except for a few candles that the altar boys had forgotten to extinguish. Smoke from their flame curled upwards into the air. It smelled heavily of parchment, incense and holy oil. 

He kneeled at the altar, made the sign of the cross over his shoulders and clasped his hands together.

"Dear Heavenly Father," He said, his voice barley above a whisper. "Please forgive me for my many sins." His eyes turned skyward. 

"I have been avaricious." The King had inherited a fortune. Unlike any other within Gotham. Hidden stores of gold and jewels were locked away in the deepest caverns of the Bat King's palace, the treasures stained with blood.  Winters came and went, and the Bat King's people only became more poor and destitute as he appeased his nobles with his wealth, allowing them to spend it at will. Lavish parties, uproarious scandals, debauchery, all paid for with the crown’s money.  

"I have been wrathful, and violent." Crusade was the duty of the King, for God and Country, he had been told. He could still remember the first village his men had ran through, and decimated. It streets were flowing with silt, blood, and tears. He had taken whatever land his sword could touch, by any means. How many times had he returned home, peeled off the grimy armor for some solace of comfort and found his skin underneath bathed in blood and grime. All for what? For Glory. For Power. For Loss, and Grief, and Heartbreak. All of these he had endorsed. He found his temper shortening every day. His own court feared to look at him. 

"And..." He paused, letting his head fall to stare at the ground, fearful of God's judgement. He moved his hands to his head, placing them on either sides of his crown. He never allowed anyone below him to see his face, but here he knelt before the ultimate power and he was too much of a coward to bare his face freely to God. He placed the crown in front of him and summoned his courage. "I have been easily enticed by the devil." 

"You know of his silver tongue," He spat. "He wears the face of my Jester."  

The Jester had come into his company by the wish of his court, it was true, he needed someone to liven up the court. He was susceptible to.. moods. But they knew nothing of what agonizing torment that the Jester's presence would unleash on him.

He was an unusual looking man, if you dared to call him a man. The Jester was meant to be the fool of the court, and in no ways was he that. He stood, or sat by the throne, making snide comments at the nobles, and cynical bites at whatever visitor graced the King's hall. 

He was remarkably clean, blonde hair was always combed away from his head, the plum and emerald garments he wore were not ill fitting like other clown's, instead they hugged his thin frame. The only two things out of the ordinary that the King could discern from his appearance were his fingernails, always caked with what looked like to be either blood or dirt, ragged at the edges of the nail bed, and the man's face. He had a slight upturned, crooked nose. His eyes were a delicate green that seemed so out of place in his person it was jarring. Under the eyes were carefully, impeccably drawn triangles out of a black paint mixture, extending nearly to the man's mouth. His mouth had caught the Kings attention, for his lips and cheeks were marred with thin scars, like spider’s webs. The King had never found the courage to ask where the scars had come from. 

He gave himself no name, and was only 'Jester' to the King and the court. 

He never laughed with that boisterous foolish laugh like most jesters had. He would snicker to himself at the state of some courtesans dress, or he would scoff at a visitors own fool. The only time the King had heard him laugh with uninhibited glee was when a man's head was placed against an executioners block, or when the Jester witnessed him lash out at the members of his court. His laughter then was high and feverish, he placed a thin hand over his mouth to hide his smile. 

Violence was undeniably one of the Bat King's vices, and the Jester had indulged that. Just today, a young captain, his armor shining without any blood, knelt before the throne. The nobles said that he had committed an apostasy against the crown, denouncing his Kings name, his greed, the violence he had committed, and the conquests he had lead, to assemble his own army. Execution was his fate. They had left him to decide on his own. The Jester had other plans.

"It's been so absolutely bleak here, my King." He had said. 

The King took his eyes from the kneeling captain to look at the Jester. "There was an execution yesterday, mind you, I didn't approve of it. But you convinced me otherwise, aren't you satisfied?" He had said, dimly aware of the clown's manipulation. 

"Yes, and it's all good fun." The Jester said with a small smile, as if he remembered the occurrence fondly. The King had no doubt that he did. "But the guillotine is on its way out. Too French. If you really want to subdue an uprising, you'll have be more creative than simply chopping his head off. Imagine it, my leige.” The Jester spread his arms wide, “This man’s body, broken, bruised, beyond repair, then you send him back off to his little wife and uprising.” He made his open hands in to fists. 

"Watch your mouth." He had said to the Jester, the man’s arms fell at his sides. The King  looked back to the young captain. The boy,  seemed stoic enough, except for his eyes. They darted around the room like a frightened animal's.

"Of course, my Lord," The Jester said, stepping away from the throne. "I only exist to appease you, to serve you, your Majesty," His wicked grin grew. "Your Highness, your Brilliancy--" 

"Enough." The King said, knowing that the clown would ramble on for eternity. The Jester gave a low bow, mocking him. 

"I only mean to suggest that you allow me," The Jester bent down near the captain, and gripped the man's chin in one hand. "To deal with the thorn in the crowns side." 

"You're a Jester, not an executioner." The King said. 

"Who said I was going to kill the man?" The Jester said, leaning down to be at eye level with the captain, he gripped the man's chin with his thin fingers. "At least let me beat him within an inch of his life." The King couldn't tell if his was tone was ironic. At this point he doubted it was. He knew of the clown's sadistic nature. The captain looked up at the Jester, his frightened eyes only widening. 

"Leave him be," The King said, standing from his spot on the throne, adjusting the holster for his sword. "I'll deal with him on my own terms."

"Pity, you're awfully handsome," said the Jester to the captain, just loud enough for the King to hear. "He just doesn't allow me to have any fun, yet, of course, oh, captain." the Jester said, his scarred lips came close to the other man’s ear, just close enough to graze his skin. The captain recoiled. "The things we would do, the fun I would have with you." 

This somehow struck a chord with the King, a out of tune, dissonant cluster of notes that made his stomach twist.  The King lunged forward to grab under the Jester's arm, pulling him away from the captain. He waved to the guards near the entrances of the great hall, and the captain was dragged away without another word. He threw the Jester on to the ground with one motion. The clown let out a burst of laughter, uninhibited and gleeful. 

"Did I not tell you to be quiet?" He hissed, as he stood over the Jesters thin body. The Jester looked at him from the floor, his grin wide, his laughter loud. 

"I suffer day by day, with your antics," The King took the Jesters arm again, roughly pulling it towards him. This did not quell his laughter. "With your so called jokes, with you whispering comments in my ear." He turned towards the throne, still holding fast to the Jester. "With the flirtations." He seethed. 

"Oh my dear King, you mistake-- you mistake me for a courtesan." The Jester said his tone high and lilting inbetween manic spurts of laughter. Both of the King's hands now gripped onto the Jester's doublet, he could feel his knuckles ache beneath the metal of his gauntlets.  

"You know of what I speak." The King said, the Jesters comments only infuriating him more. He threw him on to the throne. The Jester's head made a dull thunk. A few strands of blonde hair came free from their perfectly combed waves. The King then outstretched his arm to grip the Jester's neck, his other hand removed a dagger from its sheath, he brought the blade close to the other man's face. His green eyes searched for some sense of features behind the dark veil that the King wore. "What is your plan, Jester, to entice me like the devil? To use my men against me? To take my throne from me? To make me succumb to your foul, lustful desires?"

The Jester gripped onto his hand, his pale face somehow even paler, his scars accentuated due to the lack of oxygen. His pupils were blown wide and he seemed more blithe than ever. The King's lip twitched under his veil, disgusted and all together intrigued by the display.

"Only if you wish it, my King." The Jester sighed, melting into the King’s grasp. 

The King let go of his neck with an appalled scoff, his heart thundering in his chest. He drew the dagger back. He stood there for a moment, watching the Jester preen himself, smoothing back his hair, adjusting his wrinkled doublet. He still let out a few snickers. 

He sheathed the dagger with a sigh, knowing he would regret what he said next. "Come to my chambers after sunset."  

The Jester's eyebrows raised, he stood from his spot on the throne, fingers ghosting over the small bruises forming on his neck. "As you wish." 

Of course, he returned later that night, while the King was hunched over various papers on tax collection and all things boring in his kingdom, trying to push the images of the Jester's face out of his mind. A candle burned slowly, dripping wax on to his writing desk. He had discarded the armor he wore day to day, but his veil and crown still sat upon his head. He had removed his crucifix from its place around his neck. There was a knock on the door.

"Come in." He said from the desk. 

The door opened. He did not look up from his place, his heart was now beating a little bit faster. He had cornered himself.

"My King." said the Jesters nasally tone.

"I should have you killed for your display in court today." He said, making a swift stroke with his quill. "You're obviously a heretic that I've let in to my court with a blind eye. God would be pleased to see you return to hell." He set the quill down. 

"Harsh. Truly." 

The King drew in a breath through his teeth at the clown's words. He stood from his spot at his desk to face the clown. He looked to be in a state of disarray. His neat hair had gone uncombed for some time, his delicately drawn triangles were smudged, his doublet wrinkled. His hands were folded behind his back, and he still wore a stupid smirk. The King's stomach lurched. He reached for his dagger, still at his side. He took a few steps towards the Jester. 

"I shall cut that grin from your simpering face." He said, gripping the blade tightly.

"Already attempted." The Jester tilted his face, the King eyed his scars. "They suit me quiet well, I'm sure you think so too." 

"Then your tongue, I could do with a silent Jester." 

"Then you'd just rid me of my charm." 

"Be quiet." The King said, now close enough to press the dagger to the clown's neck. "I would be well without your charms." He leered. "I'm sure you've been sent by the devil to tempt me," He reached to fist his hand in the fabric of the Jester's doublet. He saw bruises on the pale skin of the man's neck, and his stomach lurched once more. He felt the urge to touch them. "His servants are cunning, and charming, and unearthly." 

"Finally, a compliment," the Jester quipped. The King then brought the tip of the dagger to the man's adams apple. The Jesters green eyes searched for his own, hidden behind his veil.

 He brought the dagger back, and let go of the Jester's robes. "Kneel." He commanded, taking a few steps back to pace around the room. The Jester sat on his knees, watching the King's mind unravel, knowing that it was not just him causing the King to act this way. The King was fighting with his own desires. He clasped his hands together over the dagger. "Judgement is mine to pass on to you, but I cannot bring myself to kill you."

The Jester did not answer. 

"Damn it." The King said under his breath as he sheathed his dagger. He then stepped forward, took hold of the Jester's doublet, and pulled him upwards, forgoing God at this moment, he was glad that his crucifix laid on his desk, for he was sure it would burn his skin for what he was about to do next.

Frantically, he threw his crown and veil to the side, his desires and impulses overriding any wisdom he had. He pressed his hands to either side of the Jesters face and hungrily kissed his lips. They tasted far sweeter than any lady's, yet he was revolted. 

He broke the kiss, unaware if the other man was reciprocating, and instead touched his lips to the corner of the Jester's mouth, feeling the thin raised skin of the scars. His skin was rough, and pleasant, much better than what he imagined. He pulled his lips away, somehow still reluctant, and very much afraid.

"If this is to be my punishment for my heresy, I shall certainly take up devil worship." The Jester exhaled. The comment made the King take hold of his neck, the clown took a handful of the King's garments, afraid that his knees would give out from excitement. He felt it hard to breath, but he was full of ecstasy. He let a small gasp pass through his lips as he looked up at his King through hooded eyelids. His face was strong and utterly handsome, like the paintings in the ceiling of the basilica. The Jester felt content to die, right then and there, in a state of pure bliss. The King let go of his neck, and he fell to the floor on all fours, gasping for air.

"Oh, my King," He sighed. He felt himself being lifted once more, and soon their lips were touching again, hungrily they tore at each others mouths, the Jester relished the lack of air. 

The King could barley contain his desire at this point, he wished to rip the clown's doublet from his back, to throw him across the room, to grip his neck until his pale skin turned blue, to run his tongue against the man's scars, and he also felt disgust, in the deepest part of his stomach, but not enough to deter him from laying with the Jester. 

He woke later that night, in the dark of his chambers, praying that it had been a terrible dream. It smelled of candle wax and sweat. Two sets of garments lay scattered around his quarters. He could see two goblets of wine on his bed side table, and an empty bottle lying on the ground. There in his bed was another figure, lithe and pale, his skin peppered with ugly bruises. The Jester. 

The King had thrown himself from bed afterwards, dressed quickly, and made his pilgrimage to the chapel in the dead of night. 

 "Forgive me Father." The King said into the empty chapel, pushing his desires and thoughts away as he pressed his forehead to the ground, his voice low. "Forgive me for my lustful impulses, I come here only after I lay in bed with that silver tongued demon." 

There was no response from the heavens. 

 "Forgive me, Lord," He said between labored, shaky breaths. "for I know not what I do. Amen." 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you want more of this AU written, and give me ideas bc this was literally the only one I could think of lol


End file.
